


Promises Kept

by Cheree_Cargill



Series: Survival [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: This is the sequel to "Survival and Promises".  The aftermath of their sexual encounter following the crash of their shuttlecraft has left both Spock and Christine questioning themselves and one another.  When Christine goes to his cabin to get answers, she gets more than she bargained for.  NOTE:  This story contains explicit sexual content.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2002 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated NC-17 for sexual situations.

There was hardly anything left of the burned shuttlecraft by the time Scotty's crew had finished stripping it of anything salvageable. The fire had pretty much gutted it. Still, nothing would be left for the scavengers to get unless they managed to beat the Starfleet Reclamation Team to this unnamed world and haul away the empty shell before the SRT did.

 

Spock had been in charge of removing the shuttle's computer equipment and flight recorder. These would be analyzed by the Starfleet investigators already on board the _Enterprise_ and compared with his official report regarding what had caused the shuttle to crash. Nurse Chapel's report had not been particularly helpful since she had merely been a passenger and not familiar with the technical aspects. Spock had been piloting and it was his best estimate that a good-sized chunk of space rubble, too small to register on the sensors but big enough to punch through the shuttle's minimal shields, had struck and been sucked into the starboard nacelle intake, fouling the engine and throwing them into a plunging descent through the planet's atmosphere.

The nacelle had sheared away during entry, but its remains had been discovered in a ravine one hundred thirty-eight kilometers to the south. Engineers were currently collecting the shards of metal and plasteel for analysis.

Spock stood now, wrapped in a heavy parka and cold suit, watching his team haul the last of the computer core into position for beam up. He would be glad to leave this place and return to the desert warmth of his cabin. He had learned to tolerate the chill 76 degrees F that was the ship's norm, bolstered by years of acclimation and Fleet issue thermal underwear that he wore under his uniform, but the arctic weather of this empty planet was far outside his parameters of comfort.

Turning his face away from the frigid blast that blew snow particles up to sting his benumbed skin, he spied the little cave a quarter mile away where he and Chapel had ridden out the blizzard that had howled across this plain the evening of the crash. The single survival tent and sleeping bag he had managed to rescue from the burning shuttle had barely been adequate protection and they'd been forced to spend the night in close confines, pressed against one another for warmth.

Something besides survival had come of that night and the morning following. He and Chapel had found themselves in a passionate session of love-making and a bonding that he had neither expected nor fully regretted. The intimacy of their night together had opened hearts and minds between them and he had not fully come to grips with that knowledge. It continued to disturb him more than he would have liked to admit.

It had been a very un-Vulcan thing to do, this nearly uncontrollable sexual interlude, and it had been near the top of his thoughts ever since. It was not the sexual act itself that bothered him. He was by no means a virgin and had not been since age 17, when puberty had come upon him with his Awakening. His time spent with the _reldai_ of Seleya had taught him techniques and control and, although he had experienced a handful of sexual encounters since then, he had been celibate since his promotion as the _Enterprise_ 's First Officer four years ago. Until Christine, that is...

One eyebrow quirked up at that thought. Four years was an eternity to humans, although it was common knowledge that many Vulcan couples practiced abstinence between the Times, seven years or so by standard reckoning. It was a year since _his_ Time, when he should have mated and then returned to his regular life. He had never intended to co-habit with T'Pring. She would bear his heirs, but would otherwise be a wife in name only. They had little in common other than a clan-link and social class. And, before the Summoning, he had neither seen nor heard from her in--

"Mr. Spock?" Ensign Colby approached warily, unwilling to interrupt his officer's reverie.

"Yes, Mr. Colby?" Spock turned to him, instantly putting his musing aside.

"Ready to beam up, sir."

"Very good. Return to the ship. I will follow you up shortly."

Spock left his team to do their jobs and walked through the ankle-deep snow to the little cave that had sheltered him and the nurse during the brutal winter night. It looked even smaller now, barely a crack in the cliff face. But large enough...

His thoughts turned back to the morning of their rescue, before the _Enterprise_ team had arrived. Lying cocooned in the sleeping bag, their bodies pressed together and emotions sparking between them like errant lightning, Spock had melded with Christine's willing mind, her hunger and love for him drawing him ever deeper into the spiraling maelstrom of sexual exultation and sensual abandonment. It had surpassed the threshold of mental release and quickly escalated into physical expression, his body moving frantically atop hers, his hardness sheathed in her cool depths, drawing him ever onward, gripping and stroking him until he could do nothing else but ride her chaotic sexual climax to his own culmination, the most powerful he'd ever experienced. She had lost consciousness from the fury of the joining and had very nearly dragged him down with her.

Spock exhaled and his breath formed a plume that hung before him, unheeded, chiding himself for his mental direction. He had almost made the encounter out to be Christine's fault and that had not been the case at all. It was _he_ who had initiated the meld and remained immersed in the euphoria he found there. He could easily have stopped it. He could easily have refrained from beginning it at all ... had he chosen to do so, that is, instead of exploring a forbidden pathway onto which he should never have stepped.

But she had intoxicated him! He had never realized how invigorating the nearness of a woman could be! Granted, he spent his days around women, but there were mutual barriers erected between them and he had never had reason to be so physically close to one before. At least, not one whom he had grown to know and respect as an intelligent, strong individual. Of course, there was the element of Christine's love for him added, a factor that heightened his awareness of her and caused her to emit pheromones that triggered a long buried and neglected side of himself.

He could remember every detail as if it were happening once again. The softness of her skin, the smell of her hair, the china blue eyes that reached into his very soul... The truth was, he had _wanted_ that encounter. He had known for a long time that he would never fully bond with T'Pring. His true mate was not on Vulcan but frequently at his side on a day-to-day basis, quiet, efficient and more than his equal. Their physical joining was logical and inevitable. And it had proven glorious as well, the most satisfying sexual intercourse he had ever known. It went farther than the coming together of bodies, although his frame still shivered in anticipation of once again lying against her cool skin, feeling her welcoming depths enfolding him, a velvet glove that gripped and urged him to ultimate release.

Just the memory caused Spock now to close his eyes and exert control over his circulatory system, directing blood flow away from the organ that suddenly demanded more than its share. _Enough!_ This was unproductive. It had been a one-time event. The two of them were not in a position to even consider continuing such a relationship. He was her superior officer and they were in a military venue that forbade fraternization between such officers. It could only end in unhappiness for Christine. And, besides, he was Vulcan and a momentary lapse in his control did not mean that he was free to exercise that breach of mores at his leisure. He would think no more about it.

After a moment, again in command of himself, Spock turned purposefully away from the cave and drew out his communicator. Flipping it open in his gloved hand, he ordered immediate beam-up.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Christine was tired, unable to sleep despite of the methods she tried -- relaxation techniques, warm milk toddies, soft music, even a sleeping pill that knocked her out but did not quell the dreams that plagued her night after night. Nothing worked. She would wake each morning to her clock alarm, drenched in sweat, tense, and -- let's face it -- horny as hell! Because every night she found herself once more in Spock's arms, reliving the night of the crash.

Sometimes it was essentially as it had happened, the wonderful memory of his tall, slender body above hers, lodged between her spread thighs, filling her as no man ever had. Other times he worked her to unimaginable heights of arousal but then refused to mount her, in fact, sometimes rose and left her in agony. At still other times -- this one triggered by the sleeping pill -- he died in the crash and she was trapped with his body in the freezing cold, dying at his side as his life‑giving warmth ebbed away with the green rivulet dripping from his body.

But there were other, more pleasant scenarios that washed over her slumber. In one they were marooned on an incredibly beautiful tropical isle, swaying palms and rushing surf accompanying the frantic sex they had on the beach. In another, they were on board the _Enterprise_ , somewhere public, somewhere they might be discovered, hurrying to finish before someone caught them. And in yet another--

Christine shook her head vigorously to clear it. The dreams were driving her crazy! She knew she should seek out Leonard and request counseling, but she couldn't bring herself to do that. If he ever found out that she and Spock had had sex, then she would never hear the end of it and neither would Spock. She admired McCoy and liked working with him, but she had to admit he could be a tin-plated bastard when he wanted to be. And she could never expose Spock to more of McCoy's teasing than he already endured. _She_ could take it, because she'd tell McCoy to stick it in an appropriately dark orifice, but Spock never would. He would simply suffer in silence, not giving McCoy the satisfaction of a rebuttal.

So Christine kept her mouth shut and made herself cope. Thankfully, her days had been filled with work, for crew physicals were underway. McCoy had reasoned that, as long as the ship was parked in orbit and the recovery mission was underway, now was as good a time as any to get this tedious business out of the way. And Christine was very grateful indeed that McCoy had run her physical and Spock's himself the day they were rescued from the planet's surface. And that she'd had the time to thoroughly clean up beforehand. _Thoroughly!_

* * *

In sickbay, Dr. McCoy fed the next data chip into the records computer and appended Nurse Chapel's med report to the baseline. They were six days deep into crew physicals and Spock and Christine's post-crash follow up had simply been two more that he had done. After a quick scan to make sure there were no broken bones or frostbite that would come back to haunt them, he had returned to his evaluations and only now were the two reports turning up in the queue.

Both had checked out except for some mildly abnormal readings. Both showed very slightly elevated blood pressure and chemical levels that were consistent with recent exertion. At first he had thought that to be a result of their ordeal on the surface following the crash, but now some other things were beginning to stand out to him. Christine's neurotransmitter levels were up as well and her estrogen output was magnified. This mirrored a similar reading for Spock, with testosterone up beyond its normal reading. With his neurotransmitters, it was hard to tell but there was a fractional elevation to that too.

McCoy's brow crawled up in revelation and he made one final check on a reading for Christine, confirming his suspicions. There had been a trace of semen in her vagina, although she had obviously cleansed herself internally to try to eradicate the evidence.

_Well, well, well!_ McCoy thought as he viewed his findings. _So THAT's what they did to keep warm_.

His first reaction was to tease Spock unmercifully, but then his medical ethics kicked in. To say anything that might leave the privacy of his office would violate patient-doctor confidentiality. He'd let them know he knew, but that would be as far as they went. Spock and Christine were adults, after all, and there was no reason whatsoever that they shouldn't engage in a sexual relationship if they chose, despite the commonly perceived notions about both nurse and first officer. And if Christine had finally managed to catch Spock, then good for her!

Interrupting his thoughts, the object of his ruminations entered his office and laid another packet of disks on his desk. "That's the rest of today's batch, Doctor," Christine said tiredly. "And as of two minutes ago, I am officially off duty. See you tomorrow."

"Mmm ... okay, Chris," he muttered, then looked up at her as she was exiting. "Uh, Chris ... anything you want to talk about?"

For a split second, she looked startled, like a deer in the headlights, as his old Pappy would say, but then her expression smoothed into a cool, non-committal smile. "Nothing I can think of, Dr. McCoy. Ruth has my shift report. Good night."

"Just a minute." McCoy rose and went to the dispensary, returning in a moment with a hypospray. Unceremoniously, he jammed it against her upper arm.

"What's that for?" she demanded, surprised.

"Orthonovine," he replied calmly.

"What? I don't need a contraceptive!"

McCoy's expression didn't change except that one eyebrow lifted again. "No? Well, better safe than sorry, hmm? Night, Chris," he said in dismissal.

She sputtered for a second, then whirled and marched out of sickbay, her face burning furiously.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Christine sighed as the sonic waves engulfed her and rippled down the length of her body. How dare McCoy presume that she needed birth control! Undoubtedly, he had found and interpreted the residual readings of her coitus with Spock, but to assume that she was now about to sleep with the Vulcan on a regular basis was absurd and insulting! The night in the cave had been a fluke, one extraordinary happening that would never occur a second time! She and Spock had been in a life or death situation, still shaken from the crash and not in their proper minds. This had just ... happened, that's all. It had just _happened_.

Then a thought struck her. Had Spock said something to McCoy? Is that how the doctor had gotten the idea that she and Spock--?

Suddenly angry, Christine snapped off the sonic controls and stepped out of the shower. Dressing quickly in the pair of exercise sweats and black t-shirt she had pulled from her closet, she decided that she would settle this with the First Officer right now! Slipping her feet into a pair of clogs, she strode out of her cabin and toward the turbolift.

* * *

Spock was preparing for his evening meditation following his shower and had slipped on his floor length black robe, the slightly rough weave of _z'santcha_ fabric familiar against his bare skin, an intimate and integral part of his nightly ritual. The tuning of his mind to ignore the touch of the robe was the beginning step of _kohl-tor_ and so elemental that it was one of the first things a child was taught.

Spock lit a cone of incense, adjusted the lighting to minimal, and knelt before the shrine, closing his eyes and steepling his fingers before his face. Stilling his mind through long practice, he began to instruct his nerve endings to cease feeling the scratch of the fabric. But tonight there was a problem. Unable to concentrate, he had trouble reaching First Level, for the robe's caress persisted in reminding him of fingernails trailing over his ribs, of soft breath against his neck, of blonde hair tickling his chest. Almost of their own accord, his thoughts forced their way stubbornly back to the night in the cave and the enticing memory of Christine moving sensually beneath him, of the way her thighs gripped his in the heat of passion, of the way her full breasts heaved up against his chest, of the little sounds she uttered each time he thrust deep into her--

_No! Unacceptable!_ Shaking himself, Spock began again, doggedly repeating the ritual. He would not allow these thoughts to disrupt his routine or his life. What had occurred was an aberration. Despite Chapel's emotional attachment to him, even she could accept that. Spock recited once more the mantra of _kohl-tor_ and this time the years of long practice paid off. His mind sank through First Level as it should have before. Simple. Proper. Controlled. Now to still his heart rate and breathing...

He was just entering Second Level, relaxing his mind into a true meditative state, when he was jarred abruptly from contemplation by the door buzzer. It took him about ten seconds to come fully alert and get to his feet, during which time the buzzer grated loudly twice more, like an angry hornet.

More than a bit irritated by the interruption, Spock had to take a deep breath and take charge of his emotions before he went to the door and snapped, "Enter!"

Christine barged in as soon as the door panel slid back, not bothering to wait for permission. As it closed behind her, she announced, "We need to talk."

"Indeed," he responded with affronted surprise. "You seem to feel that you have _carte blanche_ to enter my quarters as you wish."

That brought her up short. "Oh. Sorry. But we _do_ need to talk."

"Very well." He slipped his hands behind his back and took up his patient, emotionless pose, gazing down at her with a stony face. But even then he was drawn to the untamed femininity she projected. Her face cleansed of makeup, her blonde hair loose about her shoulders, she radiated health and freedom. The black t-shirt clung to her torso and the soft sway of her breasts and protrusion of her nipples through the fabric made it obvious that she wore nothing beneath it. The unbidden image of her unclothed form flashed through his mind and he stiffened his posture in response.

After a second, she squirmed a bit. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she said, misinterpreting his expression. "I won't be able to say it if you do."

Spock softened his stance a bit and his dark brown eyes took on a quizzical look. "Say what, Miss Chapel?"

She sighed. "We're back to 'Miss Chapel'. Then I suppose what happened really _didn't_ mean anything." She started to turn away. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Spock."

He reached out and caught her arm. "Wait. Is that what you came to discuss? The ... uh ... incident?"

"Incident? Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Impersonal. Bloodless. I just wanted to know if you said anything to Leonard about it."

"No, of course not. Why would I?"

"Because he slapped a dose of Orthonovine into me before I left work today. I got the impression he expected us to jump into bed as soon as we were both off duty."

Spock's eyebrows both went up. "Indeed!" Then his irritation expanded to encompass the doctor as well. "Did you not inform him that we were not--"

"No!" she broke in, furious. "I didn't say anything to him! I thought you might have--"

"You know quite well I do not discuss my personal life with Dr. McCoy," Spock answered coldly. "But I shall make certain he does not interfere this way again!"

The Vulcan took a step toward the door and was immediately halted by the nurse. "You'll do no such thing!" she hissed.

Spock stared down at her in shock, then stepped back. "You are correct. To say anything to him would only add fuel to the fire."

"To put it concisely!" she answered, folding her arms under her breasts. "Anyway, there's no reason to do anything at all. You and I both know it's ridiculous to even _think_ we'd be ... well, you know..."

"Indeed," he replied, but his voice was softer, more speculative. "Ridiculous."

"I mean, just because of that one time ... I mean, I hope you're not thinking I'm going to run in here and ... and..."

"No, of course not, Miss Chapel," he agreed, but his eyes were still on hers, then almost of their own accord slid to glance at her breasts. Beneath the cotton fabric of the shirt, the smooth, rounded globes rose and fell softly with her breathing and the stretchy material clung to her curves and the protrusion of erect nipples in a most disturbing way. Spock swallowed without thinking of the way it would look to her.

Suddenly she realized where his eyes had gone in that quick look downward and of the fact that the way she was standing thrust her breasts out assertively toward him. And she was acutely aware of the fact that she hadn't bothered with a bra when she'd hurriedly dressed a short time before. Involuntarily, she wet her lips in response. Abruptly uncomfortable, neither spoke but there was no denying the sexual tension cracking between them like static electricity. As she felt her pulse rate increase, Christine stole a glance at his groin area and saw without surprise that the robe was no longer lying smooth.


	4. Chapter 4

"Perhaps I should be leaving," she said weakly. "I just wanted to clarify things with you." She paused and shifted once more, and this time the incredible blueness of her eyes held him with their clarity and sincerity. "Spock, I don't want you to get the idea that I'm going to start expecting anything of you or chasing you around the ship or anything. I know you once thought..." Her gaze dropped to the carpet, her eyes shaded by long dark lashes. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. I'm going now."

"You do not have to," he said before he realized he was even thinking it. Startled, she looked back at him, searching his face. Her unspoken questions seemed to flood into his and he realized that there was still some link of the mind meld open between them, some bond that had formed during that night. He plunged ahead, knowing that he too had to clarify things between them. "Christine, do you truly believe that our encounter was meaningless? That what I did -- opening my mind to you -- was nothing more than a ... one-night stand?"

"I ... I don't know, Spock," she answered faintly, her heart pounding now. She too could feel something here, some degree of the flame that had sprung between them. It frightened and confused her. "I don't know _what_ to think."

He took a step toward her, his clean, masculine, alien scent obvious now as he came closer. There was something primal and sexual in it, something that made perspiration bead up on her forehead and the blood race through her veins as if on fire.

"Christine ... I shared my mind with you because I wished to. It was no accident or haphazard loss of control. I _wished_ to make love with you."

"But--" She shut up as he reached to stroke his fingertips down her cheek. Her meld points, where he had touched her before, sizzled with anticipation, straining to bond with him. "But it was only because--"

"Because I desired it," he interrupted huskily, his dark eyes holding her in their smoldering gaze. "Because I desired _you_." There was no mistaking now the effect she was having on him. His body was responding to her as it had the night of the blizzard. His blood was catching flame with her nearness and the urgency singing back and forth through the bond.

His hands slid to her shoulders and he gently pulled her against him, against the evidence of his need for her, and in the next instant had captured her mouth in a long, searching kiss. When they parted, she staggered a bit, gasping in air, her head spinning.

"Spock--"

He kissed her again, harder this time, his arms going around her, and this time she surrendered, arms sliding around his body, head going back, lips opening to receive his probing tongue. They barely broke to breathe, their kisses growing deeper and more frantic. Through his robe, she could feel his arousal becoming prominent, pushing into her stomach, and sweat broke out on her torso, beginning to trickle down between her breasts and along her spine, though whether from the heat in the cabin or her own rising temperature, she could not be certain.

At last she pushed him away slightly, needing to breathe. "Spock, we shouldn't ... really..."

"I believe I promised you a next time," he whispered in that velvet baritone that could turn her knees to jelly. It was having that effect right now.

"Yes ... yes, you did," she murmured, clinging to him to keep from falling. "But, really ... you don't have to. I won't hold you to--"

"I want you, Christine," he stated emphatically. "I want you _now_!" He caught her lips again in a bruising kiss then suddenly swept her up into his arms, carrying her into his bed chamber.

Together they sank down onto the mattress. As he settled beside her, Christine whispered, "Spock, I'm afraid..."

"Why?" he asked, raising himself on one elbow to gaze down at her in surprise. "You showed no such fear in the cave."

"That was different," she answered, looking troubled. "That didn't seem real somehow. It was more like a dream."

"I do not understand," he said.

She looked up at him with apprehension. "Spock ... is this a mercy fuck?"

He sat upright so quickly that he nearly fell off the bed. "A _what_?" he demanded.

"A mercy fuck. When a man has sex with a woman because he feels sorry for her or--"

He was on his feet. "I _know_ what it is! How dare you think me capable of that!"

Christine quailed before his obvious anger. "I'm sorry," she answered. "I just had to get that clear."

Spock walked away into his office and stood there in the dark for several minutes, his back to her, rigid, hands pressed together before his face. When he came back at last, he was calmer, back in control, although still looking a bit upset.

"Christine," he said in a soft, husky voice. "I am a Vulcan. We do not do such things to each other. I do not even know how to play these human games."

"You're half-human," she pointed out. " _That_ part of you might know."

He sat down on the side of the bed, facing her. "When we join ... mind-meld ... there are no pretensions. A mate would know instantly of such subterfuge. Such a thing simply does not exist on Vulcan. A joining of body and mind can only come about with the mutual desire of both parties." Softly, he skimmed his fingertips along her jawline. "Christine, can you not feel the bonding we created between us? Can you truly not know what I am capable of? And _not_ capable of? Surely you must know that when I say I want you, you may believe me."

She closed her eyes and a tear leaked from beneath her lashes. A second later, she felt the soft touch of his finger catching it. "Your face is wet," he whispered.

She could not suppress a little laugh of relief and joy. "Are you going to tell me now that we shouldn't protest against our natures?"

He shook his head and smiled. "No. It would be redundant to repeat that which you know so well."

She laughed again and held her arms up to him. He came into her embrace, their lips coming together once again, and this time there was an obvious difference. Mentally, she opened herself up to him and once more felt the indescribable sense of fulfillment as his very essence brushed against hers. After a moment, he pulled back to shed his meditation robe and lay back unclad beside her. Her sweat pants and t-shirt were suddenly unbearably hot and she was not surprised when he responded right away, helping her pull the shirt over her head and then working the pants and her underwear down over her hips and legs. Together they got them off and tossed them unheeded to the floor and their bodies came fully together for the first time.

The enhancing of the mind meld as skin met skin was dizzying and for a moment she wavered. Spock mentally took firm but gentle control until she could assimilate the new sensations then he gradually released her to experience the joining. As she adjusted, he began again, his long fingers forming the symbol of affection she had seen before, index and middle fingers extended, the rest folded under. Beginning at her lips, he softly traced his way down her throat to her collarbone, then into the valley between her breasts. Her skin was glistening with sweat and he swirled his fingertips lightly in the moisture then brought his fingers up to touch the pads to his tongue, tasting her saltiness. He did it slowly, sensuously, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a pulse of arousal between her legs.

The surge echoed back from Spock's mind, showing that he had felt her reaction. Returning to his exploration, he trailed his touch over the mound of one breast, full and voluptuous, until he reached the deep pink nipple. It was already extended but the feathery contact caused it to rear further, almost as if there were a magnetic attraction between her skin and his.

With a gasp, she arched her back up in response and he bent to her invitation. Hot tongue replaced fingertips but with the same teasing effect. Only this time the gust of his breath joined it, warm and alive as he flicked the tip of his tongue against her straining nipple. Christine groaned and rolled her head against the pillow, running one hand up to bury it in the thick cap of black hair bent over her. Spock responded by abruptly engulfing her breast in his open mouth, sucking her in and massaging her against his palate with his tongue.

She cried out incoherently and his large hand closed over her other breast, squeezing, pulling at the puckered, rosy tip, his hunger for her flooding through the mind link until she spasmed and shuddered in ecstasy. It lasted for a long minute, then he backed off once more, returning to his gentle survey of her torso.

His lips, tongue and fingers examined the contours of her belly and abdomen, delving into her navel, tickling her sensitive places, lapping at the sweat rolling from her body onto the red coverlet below. She had closed her eyes and lay quiescent, lost in his touch and the sensations she was feeling from his mind.

Then she felt him shift slightly and gently push her legs apart. Her heart pounding furiously, her eyes still closed, she waited to feel his body lower itself onto hers, for his entry. Instead, he softly stroked his fingertips along her nether lips, barely touching them, merely teasing, and she opened her eyes to look at him. In the soft light of the firepot, he was breathtakingly masculine as he leaned over her. The red glow contrasted with the faint verdant tint of his skin, sculpting his dark-haired chest and tightly muscled stomach into high relief. But her gaze was drawn at once to the long, thick column of flesh that protruded above his thighs. Her heart leapt in excitement at his physical virility and she unthinkingly allowed her thighs to fall farther apart, opening herself to him with eagerness.

There was a soft chuckle in her mind. // _Impatient!_ // he chided her. // _You wish it to be over so soon._ //

Christine swallowed and smiled. "Sorry. You just look so _good!_ " Her eyes went back to his impressive maleness.

// _As do you, my t'hy'la_ ,// his thoughts whispered. Then he turned his attention back to the unexplored regions of her feminine valley.

Trailing his fingers up the soft lips once again, he this time exerted just enough pressure to part them, his fingertips sinking into the silky well of fluid hiding there. Her rich odor filled the heated air of the bed chamber, mixing with the exotic aroma of Vulcan incense, and she could sense the upsurge of arousal that jolted his body as he breathed it in. His touch moved upward, spreading her perfumed oil as he went. She groaned and pulled her knees up and apart, then jerked sharply as he reached the swollen nub of flesh he sought.

Softly but deliberately he stroked it, rolling it rhythmically back and forth. She began to groan again, lost in the building climax but even so was unprepared when his hand slipped suddenly lower and his long middle finger plunged to the hilt into her tight, ready passage. With a strangled cry, she arched in orgasm as he thrust his finger in and out rapidly until he felt her reach her peak and begin to come down. Then, as suddenly, he withdrew and returned to manipulating her rigid clitoris, making her soar back up with a rapturous cry.

He held her captive for a long moment more then allowed her to descend, his gaze locked onto her flushed features. Panting, nearly wild-eyed, she stared back, her unvoiced readiness telegraphing itself to him through every fiber of her being. His own arousal was unmistakable, his midnight dark eyes alive with a fire she had never seen there before, and he lifted himself above her on stiffened forearms, muscles bulging as he positioned himself to her eager body.

Between them, she could see his erection, huge and hard, a deep olive green and ridged as no human man's would be, and for a split second, a spark of fear pulsed through her. But then she remembered that he had loved her before and the ecstasy of that memory replaced the fear with joy, urging him, // _Now! Now!_ //

His thoughts returned agreement and he probed into the wet valley of her sex, slipped into the doorway he sought, and paused there to make sure of her readiness. Her whole being urged him on and he gathered himself above her. With care, he pushed his hips forward and felt himself sink into her depths.

"Oh!" she exclaimed aloud, her eyes closing, but it was a sigh of bliss, not pain. He pushed further and again she gave a gasp. This time, however, she opened her eyes and gazed up into his, so close now to her own. "All the way, Spock," she whispered.

"Yes," he murmured back with a little smile of his own and in answer shoved his hips forward with a sudden lunge. He was buried hilt-deep within her, filling her as he had not before, and she arched against him, her nails digging into his back.

Breathless, he held still, though his entire body quivered at the exquisite sensation of joining. Then she opened her eyes once again and the depthless blue undid him.

"All the way, Spock," she whispered in a barely audible voice. " _All_ the way."

His heart pounded harder, understanding, and he shifted to bring his right hand up to her face, his fingers positioning unerringly onto her meld points. She twitched and gasped, then a tremulous smile touched her lips.

He was _there_ , inside her mind once again, his fire, his power, his alienness spreading through her like warm honey. It was like the first time he had melded with her, but more open, more willing to reveal his inner self. And this time the sexual desire was generated by _him_ , enveloping her in a red-orange light as if Vulcan's sun had come down and set her ablaze.

She cried out in reflex and he backed off a bit, so as not to overwhelm her once again. But she clutched at him, blinded by his radiance, and shoved her hips up against him, impaling herself deeper on the hard, hot shaft within her. The backwash of her arousal broke over him and he began to thrust into her, lodged deep within her smooth, gripping passage. Echoing back from her mind to his was the sensation of his long, ridged erection moving far within her, and his own building excitement.

Blackness hovered at the edges of her consciousness and Spock retreated once more. It was clear now that he would have to hold her emotions in control. She was too prone to throwing herself wide open and seeking complete fulfillment as she climaxed, something that she could not handle without the buffer of his own mind.

Spock slowed his thrusts to a long, slow rhythm and turned his mental energy in directing his partner to satisfying but safer pathways. Searching her mind for a suitable image, he tapped into her dream world and found the fantasy on which to build...

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Christine waded out into the water just enough to feel the waves lapping about her ankles. Farther out, the breakers were fierce and forbidding, but by the time the surf reached the white beach, it was foaming and spent, gentle in its caresses on the sand. The breeze was warm and played across her bare skin, ruffling her loose hair about her shoulders and rippling the blue and white batik sarong tied low on her hips. Her only other adornments were the tiny bikini she wore and the red hibiscus blossom tucked behind one ear.

She didn't hear Spock behind her, his movements masked by the noise of the surf, and jumped ever so slightly as his arms slid around her, his large hands moving up to cup her full breasts. Murmuring in contentment, she leaned back against him and brought her hands up to cover his. There was no need to speak. They were attuned to each other's thoughts and emotions. She didn't need to feel his hardness pushing against her bottom to know he wanted her. His whole being radiated it.

Bending to nuzzle her neck, he played his thumbs over the scrap of fabric covering her breasts and was rewarded as her nipples swelled to ripeness in response. Gently he rolled them beneath the stretchy cloth, exploring their contours and firmness, then he turned her slightly toward him, grasping the meager covering of that breast and yanking it down.

Her nipple popped free and he bent to seize it in his mouth, working it with his tongue, sucking almost to the point of pain, then soothing it with light kisses and licks. His other hand massaged the opposite breast roughly until he turned her even more to face him and tore away the covering to that one as well. Hungrily, he dived to capture her second exposed nipple and repeated his sensual assault on that one.

She laughed and gasped at his voraciousness, a fact accentuated by the rearing protrusion that stretched out the front of his brief, athletic swimsuit. It barely covered him as it was and she had often let her gaze roam over the shapes and movements prominent there when he would emerge from a swim, the drenched suit clinging to him like a second skin.

Now, unable to resist, she slipped her hand down to stroke him, running her fingers lightly over the contours of veins and ridges that pulsed with his pumping heartbeat, engorging the thick organ even farther. They were apparent even through the stretchy cloth and she traced each one up the length of his swollen rod to its tip. Spock gasped softly as her fingernails lightly scratched over the head and a sly, wicked expression came over his face.

Abruptly dropping to his knees before her, he pushed the overlap of her sarong aside and focused on the little thong bikini that covered her womanly mound. Her scent filled his nostrils, giving evidence to her arousal, and he slipped his fingers between her legs, rubbing her through the cloth of the bikini. She was already wet and her folds parted to allow both his fingers and the crotch of the panty to sink between her soft lips, the moisture there quickly soaking through.

Groaning, she had to clutch at his shoulders to steady herself and she bent and spread her knees a little in instinctive reaction. Pleased, he continued the exquisite friction for a moment then he pulled the cloth to one side. His fingers sank into the dripping valley of her sex and he had direct access to her throbbing clit itself.

Christine cried out and opened a little more, pushing her hips toward him. It was all the invitation he needed. His mouth descended onto her luscious flesh and his tongue replaced his fingers in exploring and drinking from her well. He licked and sucked at her clit, running his tongue up and down her slit, finally thrusting his tongue into the very heart of her womanhood, jamming and wriggling it as far as it would go.

Her legs gave way at that point and she sank backward to the sand as her knees folded, her back supported by his strong hands, his face still buried between her wide spread thighs. As she writhed in ecstasy, he paused only long enough to rip the bikini bottom off her and throw it unheeded to one side, then he was back between her legs, his tongue and lips at work, devouring her sweet nectar until she was in a frenzy of ecstasy.

When he had brought her to the level he desired, he lifted his head and crawled up farther between her thighs. Her face was flushed, her bared breasts heaving, and sweat was rolling off her glistening, quivering body as she waited breathlessly, her eyes locked on his.

On his knees between her wide open legs, he reached down and finally freed the huge, pulsing organ from its lycra prison, pushing the swimsuit down to his knees and quickly working it off his legs, kicking it away. Avidly her gaze turned to the throbbing rod and she readied herself as he pushed her legs up toward her shoulders and set himself for entry.

The helmet-shaped head pushed between her folds and lodged into place for a heart‑stopping moment, then he abruptly gathered himself and shoved, sheathing himself in her with one, deep lunge. She came up off the sand with a cry, arching to meet his full penetration. Still on his knees, he dragged her astraddle his lap and, holding her there, began to pump into her with hard, deep thrusts. She moaned and clutched at her wildly bouncing breasts, reached futilely to touch him, grappled to find a hold on the sands. As she thrashed in unbelievable rapture, he stretched himself atop her, scarcely breaking his rhythm, and slipped his hands beneath her shoulders, burying his face against her neck.

She had lost any sense of control by this time and was unaware that she had raked long furrows into the bunched muscles of his back or that blood was dripping down their sides to stain the white sands green. All that mattered was that he was deep, deep in her very heart and she could feel the knife edge on which he hovered, poised in an eternity of expectation.

His explosive release triggered hers and she bucked up to meet his eruption with a scream -- one that was smothered at once by his mouth coming down over hers, tongue thrust deep to gag her. They seemed to stay that way for hours before the blinding nova faded away to a pleasant darkness lit only by the a soft, flickering orange glow.

Christine opened her eyes, dazed, to find Spock lying atop her on his rumpled bed, his bangs dripping droplets of sweat and his breath coming fast and warm against her neck. His softening erection was still within her, filling her with its bulk, and her own body tingled with little electric aftershocks that ran up and down the length of her vagina.

He raised up a bit, looking at her in amusement as she re-oriented herself, and gently withdrew from her, keeping the bulk of his weight off her chest and stomach. After a moment, he commented softly, "You are very loud. I would not be surprised if they heard you in Engineering."

"Maybe you should have stuffed a sock in my mouth," she responded.

"I found something better," he replied and bent once more to kiss her, his tongue slipping between her lips to tickle her own.

When he lifted his head, she gave a little exhalation and let her gaze play over his cherished, familiar features, now so open and vulnerable in the aftermath of love. "Whew! That was ... was incredible, Spock! I didn't think it could get any better than the first time, but..."

"You remained conscious this time," he pointed out. "I promised I would be more careful, did I not?"

That brought her throaty laugh bubbling out. "Yes, but my God! I still nearly lost it!" Then her eyes locked onto his warm brown ones. "Did we ... uh ... did we _really_ do it like that?"

"No, not entirely. I think you would have found the straight forward experience quite enjoyable, but do you not remember what else I told you? I am familiar with techniques to enhance your pleasure."

She looked surprised for a moment then smiled up at him. "You have quite a 'technique' for someone who isn't supposed to get sexually aroused more than once every seven years! What else have you got hiding in there?" She took handfuls of his sleek black hair and gently shook his head in remonstrance.

Between her legs, she felt his penis stir back to life from its still half-erect state, pulsing up hard once again against her own swollen center. "Perhaps we should explore that question more fully," he answered and slid back into her with one smooth motion.

"Mmmm," she murmured back, her arms going around his neck as she pulled him down to her lips. "No use wasting a perfectly good contraceptive, is there?"

THE END


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